


Duel

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Armpit Kink, Headmaster/Professor, Intergluteal Sex, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Nipple Play, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 18:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3780769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is headmaster of Hogwarts. The last thing he needs is yet another Malfoy obsession running his life. He needs his work and his wanking, and he'll be fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sdk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdk/gifts).



> I neeeeded to write today. So gave me this great prompt, "A quiet place to wank", and it was just what I needed. Thank you, honey. For the excellent beta, too! And everything. <3

Harry plants his hands on his knees, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his hair onto the floor of the classroom. This was a mistake. Harry knows this already. This was a huge bloody mistake, and not only because he's now a complete waste of wizard in front of Malfoy's Defence Against the Dark Arts students.

No. As Harry summons the will to stand up tall again, wipe his brow, and give Malfoy a tight cursory smile, he knows that it's mostly okay that the children saw their headmaster's arse kicked. He took some hard hexes. It happens. Harry snuck in as good as he got, if not a little better here and there. Malfoy's lip is bleeding after all. It's a balm to Harry's ego, if a bit… distracting. That isn't the major problem.

No, the major problem is that he and Malfoy duelling in front of Malfoy's class was supposed to be instructional. It was supposed to be an exercise in good practice.

It was anything but.

In fact, it might have been his and Malfoy's dirtiest fight yet, if you don't count the bathroom sixth year. They've just set an abominable example. They should rename the class, 'Spells Only Arseholes Use' or 'How to Very Nearly Kill Your Old Nemesis But Not Quite'.

It's all made worse, of course, by the fact that the children very obviously loved it. Harry can just see the fallout now: people jinxing each other in the back at breakfast, on the stairs, on the Quidditch pitch. Harry's only been headmaster for two years. The bureaucracy's already a nightmare; this will certainly have the parents owling in like mad.

But even that isn't the major, _major_ problem.

No, the major, _major_ problem is in Harry's pants.

He thanks Merlin for stodgy robes as he quickly whips his back on to cover up the evidence. It's murderously hot in them, but it's better than the alternative.

God, why, why, why, Merlin's bollocks, why now?

Except that the answer is standing a few feet away and smiling crookedly like this whole fiasco has gone exactly as he'd planned.

Bloody git.

Bloody robeless, beautiful git with his blond hair darkened from sweat and dangling into his silver eyes, his shirt plastered to his chest, and that telling glisten at the hollow in his throat that Harry wants to… Well, _not want_.

But he does. He has. Pretty constantly since he hired Malfoy this year after his original DADA professor quit to go tend to dragons because "it would be safer".

And Harry hasn't just wanted. He's… well, he's Aquamenti'd that Confringo, in a manner of speaking. He's scratched that Tickling Charm. He's flown that broom. Merlin, has he ever. A few times now. It's not like Malfoy hasn't been good to go. They'd figured out early on that they were, well, on the same Quidditch team and, er, enjoyed scrimmaging often. Malfoy's robes went falling to the floor as readily as Harry's, that's for sure.

But Harry's sworn off Malfoy. After sneaking away from the Christmas Ball to do it in, of all places, Filch's mop closet, and even with one foot in a bucket of foul mop water Harry came so hard he'd nearly passed out, well… Harry knew he had a problem. So he'd called it quits… told Malfoy they couldn't be messing about anymore the way they had been. Harry was headmaster, and he'd been taking it hard up the arse from his Defence professor any chance he got? No, no. It wouldn't do, he'd said.

Malfoy, supreme plonker that he was, had zipped up his trousers and rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Potter."

Harry had managed to button his shirt wrong all the way up and was in the process of unbuttoning again. "You don't think I can _resist_ you? Is that what you think?"

Malfoy had drawn his wand, tapped Harry gently on the chest, buttoning him with efficient perfection, and answered, "That's precisely what I think," and left.

But Harry's had the last laugh. Indeed he has. He's gone a whole month. A _month_ , Malfoy! Oh he's suffered Malfoy's slow lip-licking, his ridiculously sultry stares, his hip-swinging gait.

He's suffered and he's suffered and he's suffered some more. Harry's just that strong.

Okay, well, so there maybe has been quite a bit of wanking. Quite a lot of wanking. There's been loads and loads of copious, hardcore, barely in the door, sticky-manky sheets wanking. But so long as Harry doesn't lay a finger (or his cock) on Malfoy, he's doing quite well and bully for him! Right?

Harry is headmaster of Hogwarts. The last thing he needs is yet another Malfoy obsession running his life.

He needs his work and his wanking, and he'll be fine.

He's been fine.

"Professor Potter, where did you learn that green sizzling thing?"

"What? I mean… what?" Harry stops staring at Malfoy's sweaty chest and blinks at the little girl. "Oh, that. Er, well… I need to… yes, be getting back to… things. I'm sure Malf—Professor Malfoy will be more than happy to, uh, answer all of your extremely pertinent, er, questions. Okay?"

Merlin, she looks disappointed. And one glance at Malfoy tells Harry that if he stays he's going to kill him, so Harry clears his throat, says his farewells to Malfoy's class, and strides out of the room as quickly as his aching erection will allow.

God help him, he just needs a quiet place to bloody, fucking wank.

*

There are perks to being headmaster, and one of them is having a gloriously decadent bathroom with a gloriously decadent shower all to yourself.

Harry drops his head back, fingers a nipple gently until his breath catches, and then slips his hand down his stomach. He curls a lazy fist around his cock and strokes down to the head, squeezing a bit under the crown, running his thumb over the slit and elicting a drop of pre-come, before massaging back to the thick root. He takes his time and plays with the curls there, tugging and then scratching his nails tenderly through them until it almost, almost tickles and his cock throbs for it.

Harry fondles his bollocks, hefting them and rolling them ( _like Malfoy does_ ). He grits his teeth, shakes water droplets from his hair and the memory from his brain, and then resumes on his prick. 

He looks down at it… enjoys how the foreskin moves, stretches, encloses the wide head and then reveals it once more, shiny pink, when he pulls it back. 

He starts stroking himself to the beat of his quickening pulse. He strokes to the forbidden syllables, that awful name: Mal-foy, Mal-foy, Mal-foy.

"Malfoy…"

"I hate to say I told you so, Potter."

"Bloody buggering hell. How did you--?" Harry's hand has stilled on his cock. He's trying to remember if he changed the password before or after Malfoy used it last. He can't remember shit like this – except that he's missed the feel of Malfoy coming up behind him. Just like he's doing now. Moments before they even touch, just knowing they will… just feeling the air crackle with his presence.

"I was a curse breaker for three years before you offered me this job. You don't think I can get Treacle bloody Tart, Potter?"

Yes, well. It _is_ a crap password. Malfoy's got a point. His hands grasp Harry's hips from behind, and Harry closes his eyes. "I didn't invite you here."

"You never really do. Not in so many words." Malfoy's lips touch, open, to Harry's shoulder. His tongue peeks out, swipes a lick, and then he kisses Harry's skin as though he's missed it. "You're more of a head-jerk-in-this-general-direction bloke. Which is surprising for a Gryffindor."

"Fuck you."

Malfoy laughs against him and kisses slow across Harry's back to his other shoulder. He steps in closer, his prick nuzzling at the cleft of Harry's arse. Harry inhales sharply.

"Keep going." Malfoy insinuates his face against the side of Harry's neck. Bloody _hell_ when he does that…

Almost involuntarily, Harry obeys, his hand executing a downstroke before he knows what's what.

"You still taste like sweat," Malfoy says. His mouth is doing mad things to Harry, making him shiver and jolt. "You taste like the duel, don't you?" 

Harry almost whimpers.

"You like to bust my lip just to see how hard I'll fuck you afterwards." Malfoy pulses his hips, rutting gently against Harry's buttocks. "It still stings, you know. When I kiss you." With that, he bites down on Harry's shoulder just hard enough and then kisses the bite, soothing it.

"Why don't you heal it, you git?" Harry's taken up a nice rhythm on his cock, no longer fooling himself into thinking he can stop any time… he can kick Malfoy out of his shower any time. He can't do any such thing.

"Because I like it." Malfoy's voice is smooth like his thrust. "Why do you think I asked you to come to my class? I like how dirty you fight, Potter. Everyone thinks you're so good. But you fight bad. You fight like you know you can die. They need to learn that from someone."

Harry is momentarily stunned by what seems like an unduly insightful compliment. 

But then Malfoy growls and bites him again, his hips going harder. "And you're beyond hot when you cast." He fits his cock between the cheeks of Harry's arse, his breath hitching. "Bring yourself off. Come on."

Harry groans, because it's all over. He's gone. That's it. He's in. The end. Fucking Draco Malfoy. He starts wanking in earnest.

Malfoy murmurs a lubricating charm behind his ear, and then his arse is slick, his hand is slick, everything is slick and everything is glorious. Malfoy doesn't penetrate him. There's no time. They're bucking against each other, the sounds they're making – slapping skin and groans and 'Potter,' and 'Like that,' and 'Fuck, I'm coming,' echoing off the walls.

Malfoy bites his shoulder and shakes with his orgasm, and Harry shouts and whines, his hand a blur before he's slowing… slowing… drawing it out and closing his hand over the head each time as Malfoy slides his hands up and around and holds Harry back against his body while the shower rains warm over them both.

*

Harry's turned around now. It was bad enough with Malfoy behind him, but now that he can see his eyes…

Malfoy has insisted on washing Harry for whatever bizarre reason. He's soaping his hands and then running them leisurely over Harry's body. His intent doesn't appear to be to titillate necessarily – he's utilitarian without being brusque – but titillate he certainly does. Not that Harry can get it up again quite so quickly. But if Malfoy's doing this same business five minutes from now, well…

"You could have just sacked me."

"What?" Harry's knocked out of the pleasurable swaying he was engaged in.

"If you didn't want me around. You could have sacked me."

Harry frowns. "That's sexual harrassment, arsehole."

Malfoy takes Harry's arms and raises them over his head. He closes Harry's hands around the neck of the shower head. "You could have said I was a crap teacher." He soaps his hands again and then lathers up Harry's armpits. Harry gasps. The touch is almost unbearably erotic. It's too intimate. Harry's a bit ticklish, and he's involuntarily loving what Malfoy's hands are doing to him. His cock starts to go hard. He _wants_.

"But you're not," Harry tells him. "You're a good one." Exchanging one intimacy for another, he supposes. He's never _complimented_ Malfoy before. Not even when he hired him in the first place.

Malfoy's gaze descends to his lips. His thumbs find Harry's nipples. Harry breathes deep, the rhythm of his breath pressing his chest into Malfoy's hands.

"Be still my bloody heart, Potter."

"Fuck you." Harry thinks he may have just purred. He's never purred before.

"If you'd like." Malfoy smirks.

Harry lets go of the plumbing and sinks his hands into Malfoy's wet hair.

For the first time, they kiss.

It's brutal, it's gentle, and it's brilliant. 

Malfoy's arms come around Harry's body. They couldn't press any closer together.

Harry wiggles his fingers just so to shut off the water. He lifts his mouth from Malfoy's just barely. "Ever Apparated naked and wet?"

"Wait, let me think a moment. No, can't say that I have."

"Do you trust me?"

"No, but go ahead. If we end up in the middle of the pitch it's your arse, too, isn't it?"

"Well, that's not where I'm aiming."

"Where _are_ you aiming?"

Harry thinks of his bedroom, big and empty of sex or laughter. He thinks of the bed, so neatly house-elf made. He thinks of slow hours shagging Malfoy right in the middle of it.

"What?" Malfoy asks, frowning warily.

Harry looks at him, and he sees that wariness for what it really is: that Malfoy can only be so brave in this. That he's got something to lose, too. 

"Do you trust me, Draco?"

Malfoy blinks. Harry raises a hand and eases the worry lines creasing Malfoy's brow with his thumb. Malfoy lets out the breath Harry wasn’t aware he’d been holding. The hands at Harry's back press tighter. The corner of Malfoy's lips curves up. It's this small change that Harry feels suddenly and deep in his body. Malfoy leans his forehead against Harry's and closes his eyes.

Harry does the same, sneaks his hand around the back of Malfoy's neck, and with a crack, they're gone.


End file.
